villagelogs | 010 » something wicked this way comes

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010 » something wicked this way comes

WHO: Everyone.
WHERE: ???
WHEN: Day 010
WHAT: Spooks happen. Some sanity loss may occur. (More on that next week!)
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. PM this account to have a warning added!
NOTES: Thank you so much for your patience with this! My Friday was much busier
than expected, so I'm very sorry for the lateness on getting these out to you all.

RECOMMENDED ♫ Deadly Avenger "Gyuki"

DAY 010
“We make up horrors to help
us cope with the real ones.”
—Stephen King
The day dawns but few wake to see it. Only one, who has been exempt from the strange happenings about to unfold. She will face a day like any other, a farce of normality in an utterly abnormal universe — but she will face it alone. For none who will experience these strange happenings are to be found in the town until the next morning dawns. Each has been taken, whisked away to another layer of the town, peeled back and exposed like a raw nerve.

Mathias screams and there are none who can hear it.

THE DETAILS
Each exploration, encounter, and revelation happen separately from one another. Though some may include the same locations, none will overlap in time or space. The circumstances laid out in each prompt are exclusive to that situation — do not assume the answers someone else received will also apply to you.

Players may ask questions as they normally do for logs, but these should be kept as part of the designated thread. You may create a subthread under your header for questions, or intersperse them with your "tags". Your responses may be formatted as IC tags or as a more OOC "telling" what your character does rather than showing.

DAY 011
All characters involved in this event will wake on the morning of Day 011 in the exact location where they began to sleep on Day 009, but they will find themselves covered in a layer of dust just as thick as that which had covered much of Mathias. The dust does not extend to their surroundings.

The memories of what they encountered or saw remain clear in their minds, no matter how impossible they might seem. Sights, sounds, smells, all may be recalled with crystalline clarity, even if they wish it were otherwise.

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Oh that was a much better possibility and Raylan nodded once, slowly, in understanding as he pieced the frayed bits together. "That's why you're a profiler," he said, largely to himself with a faint nod.

"Ain't beyond people to hide in law enforcement, I'm sure you understand the questionin' of it." A beat passed before he continued. "Actually why I ended up becomin' a Marshal. To spite Arlo. Be anything he wasn't.. Yours get caught?"

"Yeah. I turned him in when I was ten, after I found a woman in a trunk in our basement."

He paused.

"'Arlo' is your dad? ...He was a murderer too?"

The glint of herself in the mirror is strange and wrong, warped. It's the blonde hair that gets to her, distorts herself in the woman who looks back at her. Pale as a sliver of moonlight, made all the more frigid by her hair, devoid of the rich brown she's used to. The contrast is stark to her. She doesn't like it. It might be the eeriness of the location that makes it worse and sinks it's fangs into her flesh.

She watches him fiddle with it, keeping her personal struggle to herself. It takes her a moment to notice the shift of light. Something would have to reflect off of it, but why and how did it go in their path? And what light source was it tapping into.

"Maybe it's suspicious as hell." To Jill, the idea of a ritual simply comes from the stack of rocks and the mirror itself. It's too strange -- much like the town itself. "One minute. Stay with me just a bit longer."

Jill lifts the mirror, to see if it'll change anything if she heads the direction the light first appeared in with it. She figures the mirror will either curse her or be a clue and it feels wrong to leave it, but she's not sure if it'll change anything. She takes a few steps around with it.

"What is it reflecting off of?" Finally, she asks it to him with a puzzled expression. "If we could get it in the light, might be something behind the reflective surface. Or behind it. But I think I'd have to break it to do that."

And she'd be the one to get seven years bad luck.

He likes it here about as much as any man who became claustrophobic at the age of 14 and has spent a hundred and thirty years trapped at the bottom of a closed well likes it. Which is to say, he is completely unable to stand still. The seconds feel like hours and the constant trickle and splash of the drip, drip, drip taunts him. Fear makes for a cruel and possessive mistress and he paces, restless as the heartbeat pounding in his ribcage.

"Let's not break it." He wouldn't call himself superstitious, but he is a gambling man, and all gambling men (and women) believe in luck. He'd rather not tempt anything that does not need to be tempted. Not to mention, he doesn't have the pilfered first aid kits on him if one or both of them cut themselves on any broken shards.

"I am happy to take it with us." But he wants to get going. Now.

She would be understanding if she knew, but to her it looks like impatience. That he's scared of the dark or simply looking to move on. The tunnel was seemingly empty otherwise and this place was littered with riddles just waiting to be solved.

For now, he can wait.

"Alright." She says simply, wiping her fingers over it. She tries to do the nail trick, see if there's a camera inside of it -- two way wouldn't matter when it's not attached to a wall, but if it's not intended to be just a mirror it's another way to maybe give them a hint of it. "Maybe it'll be easier to examine outside. The stones around it, though... do you think something might be buried there? An animal maybe."

Jill feels the rock and soil beneath her, though the gloves prevent her from getting a real understanding about it. She can only guess, but the path back here should be available later and maybe they could come with lantern or flashlight? She shouldn't be so selfish.

"Ahead of us. Didn't you notice?" Jill stands before him shows the difference in the lighting of their path and wonders if it's a trick of the light, something about the cave. "Where the hell is the light coming from? What is it reflecting off of, John Henry?"

Saying his name feels a bit weird. Maybe he'd let her call him 'Hank'. Hm.

"Wouldn't surprise me, but his style was more petty shitkicker theft and property damage. Stealin' cows and scams mostly, plenty of federal crimes but not serious ones." He spoke about Arlo the same way he talked about shit on his shoe - unimportant, barely a footnote. Wasn't even worthy of the title 'father' in general conversation.

"Woman in a trunk huh? That's pretty high profile."

Finally hitting the bottom floor, Raylan paused, one hand coming around to hover behind Malcolm as they came to a stop. "When we get outta here, you need to lay down somewhere and rest. Withdrawl is an ugly business."

Yeah, no, Doc isn't going to start talking about his trauma and pour his heart out to some lady in a dark, wet cave while she's trying to figure out something about the mirror that he's not familiar with. He's already not entirely sure if she's real or if he's having some kind of mental break. It's not like he could stay completely sane after being tormented by sheer neglect in solitary confinement all that time.

"Just Henry's fine. Or Hank if you like," he says curtly. The most curt he has ever been since they met. Hopefully understandable given their circumstances. Cracks are starting to show in his otherwise stoic, unflappable demeanour. He will apologise when he doesn't feel like he's slowly suffocating.

"Well it appears that the light is coming from the way we were headed, whatever is causing it. Makes little sense to go back the way we came, if you ask me. Maybe things could be simple for once and an exit will appear before us if we go poking around up there."

"She's not even in his official victim count," Malcolm noted. He looked around as they reach ground level, carefully letting go of Raylan's shoulder and testing his legs. This was more manageable, this flat ground.

At Raylan's advice, Malcolm looked at his face for a moment, studying him. "You don't need to worry about me," he lied. "I'm fine. It's just a bumpy road."

Instead of answering, Raylan gave him a flat, dry and unimpressed look.

"Look, you can lie to anyone else you want but I'm from Harlan, Kentucky. We know a thing or two about addicts. Granted, they're on opioids but most pharmaceuticals are now." One hand gestured out, index and thumb fingers coming together as he moved. Kentucky had an opium problem and had for years, directly caused by big Pharma. That was a different piece of fat for Raylan to chew over. "You ain't the first I've seen in the throes of detox.

Though somehow, Malcolm managed to make it not look as terrible as some Raylan had seen. The composure of him was something of note.

Raylan gestured towards the single door option they had available to them. "You first."

Edited 2020-11-03 04:22 (UTC)

Malcolm held his gaze for a moment, then moved through the door, leading them back into the living quarters.

Suddenly he heard a familiar chirping sound and he frowned, looking around.

"Sunshine?"

He spotted her, his eyes widening before she took off and swooped... right out the open door. He stared at the door.

"Was that there before?"

He'd been ransacking the place, but Raylan hadn't.

Before she is even fully awake Zed knew there was something wrong. It was more than the sense of dread that had continued to pool in her stomach since she had arrived here - this was something else. Something darker. She didn't wake right away even if her mind was clawing to wake up.

When she finally woke she sat up slowly. This wasn't the room she had claimed at John's house. It wasn't like a room in the house at all. She kicked off the sheets and slowly got up. The moonlight just made everything look more eerie and wrong. The room felt old like no one had been in it for years. She knew there was no point in calling out for John. He wasn't here even if she isn't sure where here is. After the last few days she wasn't that surprised even if she was worried. Slowly she began to move around the room. Dust. Old mirrors. She reached out to touch one of them but then hesitated. Her powers may not have been working but the last thing she needed was to have a vision that would send her spiralling.

Instead, she went to the door and slowly opened it. She poked her head out before stepping out into the long hall.

"Definitely not John's house," she muttered under her breath.

Lighter it is.

He flicks it, making the spark come to life. One foot steps out to test the stair. Just in case it decides to fall out from underneath him. Then another. Then another. There's a glance to the banister of the stairs, but, he avoids touching it for now.

What would he do if he got tetanus in the middle of a ghost town?

John climbs the stairs, looking for anything that might stand out on the walls or maybe even some windows in the walls.

There are a few windows along the way but they offer nothing of interest. Should John look up, it will seem as if the stairs should twist up and up for many more levels, but suddenly he will reach a landing and that will be it. The top of the lighthouse, with its glass encasement for the beacon that is slowly turning in its signal of warning. The metal and glass doorway to the balcony stands partially open, the fierce wind snaking in through the opening.

From this vantage point he can see down to the ocean (dark and angry), a wide expanse of sky (sunset fading into the black of night with stars beginning to emerge), and the cliff upon which the lighthouse sits (dark and angry). If he goes to the "back" of the balcony, he can see the small outcropping of the cliff, the dark outline of the forest that extends beyond, and to the left, the stretch of the town, little pinpricks of light in places marking the few living inhabitants.

He leans over the railing at one point to look up. Bloody hell. He's starting to wonder if the place is enchanted with some dimensional spell. On and on, and it gives him one hell of a headache to think about. Still! He pushes forward until he hits that landing.

John looks down at the landing underneath him. He jumps a bit on it -- just to make sure it's solid and that it really is there. There's a satisfaction in his quick test before he pushes that glass doorway open and onto the balcony.

His hands grip onto the railing as he looks around. It helps ground him for now. John turns his head to see the landscape. Interesting that he can see the stars now when they couldn't in the pitch of darkness a few days ago. Well, "days."

Then, he slowly makes his way to the other side of the lighthouse. He stops in his tracks the moment the light beam hits him, wincing and throwing his hand up. John shoots the encasement a glare, as if it was the fault of the mechanics.

"Trust me, I see the bloody light." John shoots a glare up at the sky for his woes before continuing on. This time he makes the note of the timing.

Once at the other side, he looks out over the scenery one more time. The cliff and the forest where he woke up. Makes sense. He tries to find a way to the town from his location, toying with the idea of walking back to it. He notes the beach as well, and the low rumbling of anger in the back of his mind at what he felt the first day he arrived in Mathias.

John turns his gaze to the water and glares. His hands go to the railing to prop himself up again. "How about you just show yourself!? Stop screwing around with the innocent lives that have got no idea how the world actually bloody works! Oh, sure. Hide in the shadows like a bloody coward and whisper in our ears! Scare us from the darkness! I bet it's easier if you toy with people. You haven't got the snuff to actually face people head on!"

You know what they say: up shit creek without a paddle, friend.

Jill is still uncertain if this is all real in general. She could be in a hospital somewhere, deep in a coma. It makes more sense than alternate worlds and being stuck in New England after being in Africa. Head trauma seems like better reasoning than reality, but Jill still is going to operate like it's real. What other options are there but to carry on? And, dream or not, why not make that path a little easier to traverse?

"Hank, then. Unless I find something better." Giving the go-ahead, she softens. Less clinical and more buddy-buddy, more personable than just acting on a goal and curiosities. If he's not nervous, he simply seems eager to move on and the best way to coax someone into doing as you'd like is kindness, she's pretty sure.

"I'm alright with that if you are. I don't want to just grab it and run if it might affect you." And she's used to puzzles where you make one wrong move you might have a ceiling of spikes lowering down on you while you attempt to escape from an exit that wasn't previously blocked off from you. Maybe that's just life in a nutshell, though. She hoists the mirror still, facing it away from her like it might lead the way or change things. "So, just head down the same path and if things seem messy, we'll just bring it back?"

Jill looks up to him when she comes nearer, holding out a gloved hand. It's a gesture of camaraderie and to some degree, trust. "Agreed?"

There is no answer to his cries, only the crash of waves on the cliff below and the howl of the wind tearing at his clothes.

The remaining stones do not hold carvings of umbrellas. What he will find if he looks at all of the stones:

a set of short vertical lines both thick and thin — 5 hash marks
a flower shape with long thin petals — 12 hash marks
a five-pointed star inside a circle — 3 hash marks
a small bird — 4 hash marks
a cross shape with even length arms and three prongs at the end of each — 10 hash marks

So, either their cowardly captor doesn't understand the Queen's English, or they are just a prick who refuses to show themselves. Lovely, either way, really. Good talk chap.

John sighs and gives the railing a good shake - for all the good it doesn't do. Then he slams his hands on the railing. Hopefully there's no sharp bits or anything that might have him regretting that little outburst.

Don't worry, Quentin, no one saw that little mishap. No one alive, at any rate.

The books that were on the shelf are now scattered around and underneath it, the shelf itself slightly cracked from along the bottom and back. Behind where the shelf stood is a doorway, revealing a dark stairwell leading down.

Idly, he wishes there was a piece of paper with him - but there isn't. So he resolves to commit it all to memory.

The anger is there, burning right under his skin.

Not all the symbols inspire association - the flower is a daisy, maybe. The pentagram could be whatever bullshit Claire had told him about demons and ghosts - though that could be John, and Henry, too and Five isn't quite sure why he even thinks of them.

Last time he'd checked, they were alive.

Last time he'd checked, his family was too. And that's the disquieting part that makes his stomach uneasy.

Truthfully, he isn't sure what else to think, thoughts spinning fast enough into silence, but he gravitates back to the row of six, and crouches down. His knuckles are red from the snow, and he must've slices one open from digging away with numb hands.

"The hell happened to you, guys?" Let it be clear that this isn't a question of acceptance.

Fillory has tricks like this, albeit always with a level of whimsy. The whimsy never turns out good, but this, at least it's sinister and Quentin can brace himself accordingly.

Secret stairwell. Quentin takes a big, deep breath and hopes that he can summon a bit of light if it gets dark. He moves down it, hand on he railing just in case.

The railing is not the most sturdy, it has clearly been around for quite some time and not well-kept. The stairway turns before long, again and again, steep stairs leading down and down. Light does not filter from the library for long, so Q will either need to create some light of his own or retreat and find something to carry to light his way before continuing.

Dark is...not good. Luckily, he knows his magic--most of it--works. That's a good backup in case his lighter isn't in his back pocket.

Gotta love chain-smoking due to excessive amounts of stress brought on by trying to repeatedly save the world and fuck it up. He'll reach for that, and if that doesn't work, then he'll go the lumos route.

His lighter is there and functions as normal!

If Q follows the stairwell down, it will be a slow few minutes of careful movement, the flame casting an eerie glow on the stone walls around him. And at the bottom, he'll find the entrance to a dark stone tunnel.

Did he see sunshine? Raylan stepped in behind him, eyes finding the door with him.

"No the hell it was not," Raylan said in a cold calm voice that only barely hid the flush of frustration in him as he moved around Malcolm and strode angrily towards the door, stepping halfway out to glare at the sight before storming back in and through to the stairs start.

"THIS IS GODDAMN BULLSHIT," he hollered with an accusatory finger at the lighthouse, accent drawing back out as he projected it. He turned and strode back into the living quarters. "Let's get the hell outta here, fuck this lighthouse."

It didn't matter that he didn't know how, exactly, to get back to the town. Out was out and he could deal with the forest in a fucking minute.

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010 » something wicked this way comes

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I.. assume the outside is outside the door, correct us if I'm wrong!